The line came out of nowhere as I woke.I rose and wrote it down. And then I lost it,And ever since have rummaged everywhereTrying to find those few good words I'd foundWithout knowing I'd found them. Walking at nightOr waking at dawn, my mind is busyFretting to find again those lost few words:They had authority, and a fine tune as well,Together in one line that would lead onTo others just as fine, a solid shapeNot to be shifted. But all of it has goneInto a nowhere that I cannot reach,Drifted away, out on the furthest edge

Signs

Unambiguous signs: crossed twigs on pavements,Leaves pointing a certain way, words through the wallDictated by Dr Ernst — these are allClear indications of what is going on,All adding up to truth, all making senseUntil all sense without patterning has gone.

When there is nothing else a single bulbBurns in the brain all night, all day, to lightThe certain darkness. The uncertain selfSearches for what it is certain must be right.

Out in the street the wind blows all one wayTo point the trees where they and you must go.Their lifted leaves all mutter to and fro.

Now there is neither light nor night nor day.

Inscrutable(a memory of China, 1980)

Emerging with gallery feetFrom the Beijing Museum(All later than Sung curtailed‘For one month's repairs'),I walked to the empty square(Parade ground; no parade),Sat on the steps of the MonumentTo the Peoples' Heroes, lit a fag,

Read the guidebook — and looked upTo see four soldiers watchingAt a polite distance.Then old and young came by,Dragging reluctant children,Clutching a baby or two.They stopped, and began to stare.More soldiers, more grandads, until

Forty or so stood there,In a circle around the stepsWhere I sat like a statue on show.‘I am English', I said, in English:‘I am a friend', I said.They stared as I blushed and shrugged,And watched as I stood and walkedOut of the square, alone.